Forging Unity: One-shot
by AnEalaBhan
Summary: "We have bought ourselves time. We have claimed some measure of control over our own fate. We have refused to be a pawn in their Games. But most of all, in a game which forces twenty-four innocent children to slaughter each other until one remains, we have staged the single greatest act of unity." AU berries scene. One-shot to be adapted into full-length AU rewrite of the series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I was watching the berry scene a while ago, and I found myself thinking, "What could possibly be more rebellious than this?" This story was the result of those ponderings. I'm honestly surprised that I haven't encountered this plot before. As always, all rights go to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate. The only things that belong to me are the plot and about 95% of the words (that is, the ones that don't sound familiar). So without further ado, I give you "Forging Unity."**

_Boom!_

The canon sounds as my mercy arrow pierces Cato's brain. The mutts slink away, beckoned by the Gamemakers. _Twenty-two down, one to go._

Peeta and I are still on top of the Cornucopia when the hovercraft returns for Cato's body. As the retrieval claw descends, I turn to Peeta and cling to him, afraid that the claw might snatch him away from me just as the mines snatched away my father. He rubs soothing circles over my back, murmuring sweet nothings into my hair. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here." He plants a soft kiss on my cheek.

I nuzzle my head further into his neck because it's not okay. I'm not okay. And we're both still here. When Effie uttered my sister's name, I volunteered without a second thought. I had spent my entire life protecting her, and I would continue to protect her once I returned from the Games.

A moment later, Peeta Mellark volunteered as male tribute, and my plan was foiled. Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread that had given me hope, the boy who over the course of the past several months had started to make me reconsider my misgivings about love, was now my greatest enemy. As I watched him ascend the stage, I realized that there was only one person who would fall apart completely if his face were pictured in the sky. Me. I could not lose the boy with the bread. Minutes later, as we bid goodbye to our families, I could not bring myself to promise Prim that I would return. I couldn't, not if I wanted Peeta to survive. He had to survive.

But that wouldn't stop Peeta from thwarting my plan; he did not expect to return either. We never voiced these thoughts to each other, about our mutual plans of sacrifice. We didn't need to. Haymitch's frustration with the both of us told us just as well. And now the moment has come. We are the final tributes. We are at an impasse.

"Katniss?" Peeta breathes softly into my hair. I pretend not to hear him, because I know what's coming next. "Katniss—"

"NO!" I say a little more forcefully then I had intended. Softer, I continue, "No. You're not sacrificing yourself for me. I won't let you." I notice that I'm shaking slightly. I cling to him tighter to steady myself. He gently extricates himself from my grasp, clasping my wrists in his hands, silently begging me to look at him. After what feels like an eternity, I relent. I'm met with his cerulean orbs.

"Katniss, _please_." His voice is as steady as his hands, as calming as his arms. "You have to go home to Prim. She needs you—your _family _needs you." I can tell by his stress on the word _family _that he also means the Hawthornes. And Gale. "You're my whole life. I know you wish I hadn't, but I volunteered at the reaping because I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you. Because I knew that if you never came home, I would never be happy again." He has prepared this speech. I can tell by the intensity of his eyes. He knew that our being the final tributes was a possibility, but it changes nothing. Peeta has to survive. "Now, _please_, Katniss. Please let me do this." His eyes plead with me, but I will not concede.

Sudden anger washes over me. Doesn't he realize what his death would do to me? I lost both my parents the day my father died: my father in flames and my mother in her lifeless stare. Why couldn't he see that? See that he was sentencing me to the same fate he himself could not live with? At this thought, I snap.

"What about me, Peeta?! What do you think will happen to _me_ when you're gone?!" My shaking has intensified, undulating like the maelstrom of emotions whirling inside me.

"But you have Prim, and your mother, and Gale—" I cut him off before I hear the rest of what I know he wants to say.

"Do you know what I realized when you volunteered?!" He shakes his head no, allowing me to continue. I'm near hysterical now as my levies threaten to burst. "Prim and I nearly starved after my father died because my mother was too lifeless to care for us!" My voice rises in anger and agony, but still I press on. "She loved him—my father—so much, it nearly killed her! And her children! I decided that I would—would never fall in love like that and be—w-w-weak and lifeless. But if you die—" I choke on the word as sobs surge within me. I struggle to breathe as I gasp out the rest, "I might as well be dead! B-b-because I'll be exactly like—like my—my—" A flood of emotions and sobs renders me incapable of speech. Through my tears, I barely make out the sudden realization which dawns on Peeta's face, now stained with rivulets.

He pulls me into a tight embrace as I try in vain to stymie the flow of tears now wetting his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm so sorry…" he whispers low enough into my ear that the microphones cannot pick it up. "I'm so sorry for—" his voice cracks, but I hear his unsaid words: _Everything. That we are here. That I nearly abandoned you._ We stand like this for several minutes before I feel calm enough to speak again.

"Peeta," I whisper into his shoulder, "they'll kill us. If we don't act soon, they will kill us." I am not sure what it is I'm asking as I say this, but Peeta nods in understanding. He fidgets with his pocket thoughtfully before sliding down the side of the Cornucopia. I slide down beside him give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Wait right here, I'll be right back." His eyes urge me to trust him. "I promise." I nod in response. I will always trust him. He kisses me gently on my cheek before darting into the nearby forest. After a few moments, he reemerges with a small armload of branches and brush.

"What's this?" I ask. He does not reply, but merely arranges them into a small pile on the ground. Once he squats on the ground and begins furiously rubbing one of the sticks between his hands, I realize that he's trying to build a fire. _But why?_ After just a few seconds, Peeta skillfully forges a small flame as only those who work intimately with fire can. He gestures for me to join him on the ground. I cross my legs and seat myself in front of him. He scratches the back of his neck.

"I wanted to wait at least until our last reaping to do this," he begins, "but now we'll never have the chance." He coughs nervously. His eyes lock with mine, submerging me in his sapphire depths. "Katniss," his voice caresses my name as he reaches into his pocket. He produces our last yeast roll. "Would you share this bread with me?"

Instantly, I feel tears welling back up into my eyes. I never see these things coming, not when Gale professed his feelings for me so long ago, although now he's seemed to have found solace with Madge; not when Peeta announced our relationship to all of Panem in his interview with Caesar Flickerman; and certainly not this. But strangely, I don't think I mind. No, I will allow it. After all, wasn't it Peeta's burned bread that had given me hope and breathed life into my family once before? So as I shift my gaze from the roll in his steady hand to the soft blue depths of his eyes, I nod and smile. The relief washes over his face instantly, as if he feared I would refuse. And perhaps I would have a few weeks ago. But now, I realize, this would have happened anyway. The Games have merely accelerated it.

"Of course," I respond, still smiling.

I reach into my quiver and unsheathe my last arrow, impaling the roll gently on the tip, just as Gale had done the morning of the reaping. With Peeta's left hand over my right, we turn the roll towards the small flame. I inhale the scent of toasted bread, the bread that gave me hope. The arrow that promises death but also life. And the fire that destroys but also forges metal, a nation, and two souls together as one.

We sit there for a few minutes as the bread browns slowly, stealing glances and smiles at each other. When the bread is lightly toasted, but not as burnt as the day Peeta suffered a beating to feed my family, he dislodges the roll, divides it, and presents me with my half.

"This isn't the first time you've burned bread for me," I joke lightly.

"No, I guess it isn't," he chuckles. "And I would gladly do it again," he smiles cheekily. His eyes soften as he stares at me in that way that I know is meant only for me. "I love you, Katniss."

"I love you too, Peeta," I respond earnestly. It dawns on me that this is the first time either of us has said those words, despite the past few months we've spent together. Ever respectful of my misgivings about love, Peeta has avoided voicing his affections until I was ready—that is, until now. I can't blame him, though. I know he would not want those things to go unsaid in our final moments. But then I had responded so easily, so effortlessly, as if loving Peeta was as simple as breathing. Perhaps I was ready after all.

We hold our gazes as we feed each other the ritual bread. I chew the roll slowly, savoring this moment of bliss in the arena. Though it's a day old, it is delicious, second only to burnt raisin nut bread. But as the roll slides down my throat, I can't help but feel myself swallowing the hard pill of reality. Peeta's eyes reflect this same realization. Either we act, or the Gamemakers will act for us.

I understand now what Peeta and I have done. We have bought ourselves time. We have claimed some measure of control over our own fate. We have refused to be a pawn in their Games. But most of all, in a game which forces twenty-four innocent children to slaughter each other until one remains, we have staged the single greatest act of unity, binding ourselves to each other for eternity. Unity in life and in death. Peeta knew this as he proposed the toasting, and I accepted. I could not love him more than I do in this moment.

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you." I smile as I repeat his words from the rooftop of the training center the night before the Games.

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing." He beams at me with love, the look that always seems to make me dizzy. "Katniss, would you sing for me?"

"Sing?"

"Yes." He closes his eyes, smiling fondly at a scene that only he can see. "I fell in love with you all those years ago as you sang 'The Valley Song.' I would love to her your voice, just one last time."

"Okay," I reply softly.

I wrack my brain for a song when a memory surfaces. It couldn't have been much more than a month ago. It was on one of the many occasions I took Peeta into the woods. I had already showed him the hollow log which sheltered my father's bow and the abandoned cabin by the lake. That day I had a new destination in mind: a great, proud oak tree where my father sang to me and taught me to climb. It was there that I taught Peeta to climb trees as well, a skill which has served us well here in the arena. But that was not the reason I brought him there.

"_What's this?" Peeta inquires._

"_A special place," I reply coyly. "My father sang to me here and taught me songs."_

"_Like what?" He smiles warmly at me._

_I am quiet as memories of my father flow through me. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel his presence here. I let the feeling engulf me, and, for a moment, I feel that my body is not my own as the melody swells from my heart._

I surface from my reverie to find that the mockingjays are silent. Then I hear it as the words reach my ears.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

Peeta sways as the melody crashes over him. I feel the music ripple in my chest as I continue to sing, but once again my body is not my own. Together, we are drowning.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree_

_Where the dead men called out for his love to flee?_

Suddenly I'm swirling in pools of blue. Peeta has opened his eyes.

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

By now, the mockingjays have learned the simple melody. The haunting chorus surges around us, swelling with mockingjay song. My body rises slowly with the undertow, my hands bringing Peeta up with me. Our gaze does not falter.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run so we'd both be free?_

Another voice has joined mine. It is not as musical, but the soothing tenor complements my delicate mezzosoprano perfectly. It is Peeta.

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

The air cackles with new energy. The fire next to us dances wildly in the breeze, reflecting blue flames in Peeta's irises. The words begin to slow as mockingjay antiphony billows around us.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree?_

As the words pour from my being, I understand. What has transpired in the last few minutes has been an effective distraction for the Gamemakers. As long as we have given them a good show, they've let us live. But this distraction is not indefinite, nor is it assured. Peeta took advantage of this distraction to perform the toasting and secure a few more precious moments together. But the clock is winding down. _Tick, tock_.

_Wear a necklace of rope side-by-side with me._

Peeta and I have already established that the other's death would be like a death sentence to ourselves. But the Gamemakers will kill us through whatever disturbing torment they have at their disposal. And as much as I can't bear the thought of Peeta's death, I know that a painful death will be worse. They will decide for us. We can't allow them. With this thought in mind, I reach into my pocket and present the berries to him.

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

Peeta holds out his hand wordlessly. He has come to the same conclusion as I have. Briefly, I wonder if the Gamemakers would allow two victors. I squash the thought immediately. In seventy-four years, the Hunger Games have never had two victors. Why would they now? Either way, they will not have their one victor. And frankly, I don't care. I pour half of the berries into his open palm.

_If we met up at midnight at the hanging tree._

We slow the last syllables, hoping to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Finally, we release the final note and brace ourselves. I breathe. Peeta's left hand caresses my braid. We raise the berries to our lips, a mirrored rivulet staining our cheeks.

"STOP!" the voice of Claudius Templesmith bellows across the area. Startled, Peeta and I drop all but a few of our berries. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I please present the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark and Katniss… Mellark."

**A/N: ****I may or may not be adding a second chapter to this fic; it depends on if I have time. I've also considered the implications of this type of ending for CF and MJ. Unfortunately, I don't have time to devote myself to such an ambitious AU re-write of the series. If someone would like to attempt such a feat, I would be absolutely flattered! Reviews are welcome of course. And just to clarify, I did not write explicit injuries because this fic is AU, and I haven't quite worked out the series of events leading up to this moment. For this reason, I chose to exclude explicit injuries to leave preceding events open to the reader. For example, I envision Katniss and Peeta teaming up from the beginning of the Games, thus making Peeta's altercation with Cato less likely.**


	2. Excerpt

**A/N: Hi everyone! I am SO sorry for the (completely unfair) delay in the second chapter of this story. I thought I had the second chapter all figured out... until I went to write the thing. I struggled with it for quite a bit before I realized it simply wasn't working. Then school and personal things got in the way, and I simply decided to leave this story as a one-shot... so as to begin working on a full-length AU rewrite of the series! I've had ideas simmering on the back-burner for the past several months (and 12+ pages of notes to prove it too). I haven't yet decided if I will split up the rewrite into three separate stories or lump it all into one. Regardless, events will roughly follow the events of THG, CF, and MJ, with approximately 20 chapters each. ****So to begin making up for my authorial cruelty, I've included an excerpt from the first chapter of Forging Unity. Enjoy!**

I feel it before I hear it. The air crackles with energy radiating from the electric fence which surrounds District 12, coaxing each hair on my body to bristle. As the fence comes into view, I hear the distinctive low-frequency hum alerting me to the presence of electric current. I am nearly an arm's length from the fence when the weight of my confinement hits me. My heart beats sporadically inside my chest, my breathing short and erratic. My purpose for coming here weighs on me like a stone in my pocket, tangible but invisible. The sound of rippling electricity brings me back to myself, as if I'd walked into a room only to realize that I had forgotten my purpose for entering in the first place. Waves of disappointment wash over me, followed by the overwhelming sense of failure at having been thwarted in my mission, and culminating in the feeling of dread at having forgotten my purpose entirely. I stem the swell of panic threatening to overflow inside of me.

A passing shadow and a fluttering of wings snaps my eyes up to the top of the fence. Not a shadow, but a mockingjay perches delicately on the uppermost wire. He (or is it a she?) cocks his (or her?) head from side-to-side at me.

"Hello," I say and sing a four-note melody. The mockingjay mimics the tune in a high sopranino. "So you're a girl then, huh? And how is it you're not toast?" I remark, eyeing the wire incredulously. The mockingjay continues to stare at me unblinking as if trying to make up her mind. Apparently decided, she takes flight towards the woods.

Tentatively, I reach for the wire with one finger. I feel no current through my fingertip even as I continue to hear the low hum. The fence is completely dead. What I thought was the tell-tale hum and crackling electricity radiating from the fence was actually pulsing ambient energy—but from what? I push the thought away as I slip under the fence. After all, whatever I meant to do by coming here is surely on the other side. The mockingjay is waiting for me when I emerge, perched on a slender aspen branch. As I approach her, she takes wing once more and leads me deeper into the trees.

As I walk, I take note of my surroundings: a small juniper tree, barely even a sapling; a small, rounded boulder with an oddly-shaped bulge on one side and moss covering the entire opposite face; and the fallen trunk of a rotting dogwood which I nearly trip over in my haste. I am completely at home in these woods. I've been in them almost every day since I first started to hunt for my family. And yet, somehow, I can't shake the feeling that these woods are not the ones I call home.

Another mockingjay bearing a short melody joins my escort. She's a quick study, and the two quickly begin to sing together. The melody tugs at the back of my mind. It's very short, no more than five notes, but it flickers in my recollection like a half-remembered nursery rhyme: an entirely familiar tune which conjures the first couplet in a quatrain while the second half remains elusive and the rhyming pattern incomplete.

I can't remember where I've heard this before, or when—or from whom. _Someone had to start it, and it wasn't me._ At this thought, I quicken my pace. Within a furlong, I come upon a man in a coal-mining uniform walking ahead of me. My breathing is ragged from the exertion, and my heart feels fit to burst out of my chest. I want to cry out to see if he will hear me. _Dad?_ I follow until I catch up to the man. I reach out to him and touch his shoulder, the word bubbling up in my throat. The man turns around to face me and—

Blue eyes. That's the last thing I remember when I wake up. As he turned around, only the man's startling blue eyes seared into my memory. He wasn't my father, then. My father's eyes were gray.

I've had this same dream for the past several months. Thankfully, it's not the same nightmares that have plagued my subconscious since my father's death in a mine explosion four years ago. No, this dream was different.

It always starts the same way. I find myself drawn to the electric fence which surrounds District 12 by a force stronger than even the solace I seek in the outlying forest in my waking life. A mockingjay catches my attention overhead, beckoning me to follow. At first, I could only remember crawling under the fence. Later, I could remember following the mockingjay a short distance upon waking. Lately, I've been recalling a distinctive rock or species of tree along the path I continuously follow. Even so, I invariably wake with the frustration of having not reached my destination once again. This time was different. This was the first time I encountered another person in my dream: the faceless man with the startling blue eyes.

The mental exercise of summoning the visage to my mind's eye allows my brain to join my body in full consciousness. The effort is futile. The man's face remains enigmatic, but I can think more about that in the woods. Hunting has a way of clearing my mind, allowing unconscious thoughts to surface. The sun is already up, anyway, and I should've been in the woods by now. Gale will be waiting for me, no doubt checking his snares.

I groggily roll my unwilling body out of bed, haphazardly slipping on my hunting boots. I dress in my hunting clothes the night before in order to have an early start. So much for that. I reach for my father's hunting jacket. As if summoned by the texture of smooth leather under my fingertips, the memory I had been trying to salvage from my waking dream resurfaces.

"_Are you?" the man asks._

"_Yes," I state firmly._

Yes what?

**A/N: I hope to post the complete first chapter within the next two weeks so be on the lookout for that! You all already have an idea of where we're heading, obviously, but I have SO much more planned for this story, and I am VERY excited to share it with you guys! Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome, and thank you so much for your support.**


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